The Book of Joby

by Ferrari, Mark J.

  “Uh-oh,” Laura teased. “Better get out your can of crystal repellent.”

  Abandoning his ruminations, Joby looked up the street to find Molly Redstone, Taubolt’s recently arrived New Age maven, and her circle of disciples, all in flowing gowns and ribbons, gliding toward them to recorded strains of ethereal music under a huge purple banner that read, HARMONT HOUSE HERALDS THE COMING DAWN.

  Molly had appeared the previous year, insisting that Taubolt sat at the convergence of no less than five geological power vertices, and promptly opened Harmony House, a shop selling every accoutrement required by devotees of alternative health and spirituality. Her weekly meditation and discussion group was very popular among the newer brand of townie now, and her business thrived.

  “God will not suffer a witch to live!” shouted a balding man in white shirt and black trousers standing nearby. Joby felt Laura tense in his arms as the man leapt into the street, pointing, rod-armed, at Molly. “A witch is an abomination before the Lord!”

  Joby groaned, unable to believe this was happening so soon after Ferristaff’s disruptive appearance. A shocked silence rippled through the sea of bystanders in both directions as Molly and her followers sped their pace in stone-faced silence.

  “Behold the whore of Babylon!” the man shouted. “It’s no dawn she heralds. It’s the darkness!” Rushing forward, he tried to grab one of the poles supporting her Harmony House banner, but the woman holding it managed to bang him in the head with it instead, sending him reeling back to the curb, clutching his forehead and looking around as if expecting someone to come to his defense.

  “Your god is a bigot, and a murderer of women and children!” one of Molly’s disciples spat scornfully at the man.

  Molly stopped her with a glance, and said with a sad smile and a voice pitched to carry, “The enlightened are above such bitterness, Alicia.” She looked theatrically at her wider audience, and added more loudly, “In becoming the enemy, only the enemy is served. Victory lies only in peace. Be peace.” She turned serenely, and moved on, her contingent hurrying after.

  “Concubine of the devil!” the man shouted after her, then fled the street, muttering something about the rejection of prophets in their own land as Joby saw the Heeberville police officers who’d been guarding Greensong and the crowd from each other come running in an attempt to intercept the lunatic.

  “Laura, let’s go,” said Joby, as the knot of darkness he’d just been pondering seemed suddenly to squirm and kick inside him like a restless fetus. “This isn’t the kind of celebration I was hoping for.”

  The wind brought gusts of parade noise from the other side of town as Swami and Ander helped Father Crombie slowly up the chapel’s back stairs. His hips and knees had grown much worse that winter. Even short walks were a painful labor now.

  “Thank you for allowing this, Father,” Swami said apologetically.

  “We thought it might be safest while everyone is at the parade,” said Ander.

  “It’s like a migraine,” Swami groaned, “the constant press of all their greed and grief and . . . and anger. We wouldn’t’ve bothered you, but we didn’t know where else—”

  “Boys,” Crombie interrupted, “there is nothing to explain or apologize for. This is my sacred, and, frankly, most fulfilling task in life. I am well aware of how the particular gifts you two possess must chafe in such troubled times, and I am deeply gratified to help you bear these burdens in whatever way I can.” After all these years, it still caused Crombie awe that such creatures should require anything from him at all, and pity, now, that they should reach manhood with so few tools, or even language, with which to cope with what had come at last to Taubolt’s doorstep. Crombie took the key from his pocket, and turned it in the back door lock. “Ander, will you go make sure the chapel is empty, and lock the front doors, please?”

  When Ander had gone in ahead of them, Crombie continued to lean on Swami’s steadying arm as they approached the golden box against the wall behind the altar. Crombie fumbled beneath his shirt for the medallion Jake had given him.

  None but the Council were allowed near the Cup now without Crombie’s consent. Since the broken world had started pouring through Taubolt’s borders, the unpredictable object had been given more and more frequently to spontaneous, sometimes spectacular displays of . . . who knew what? Anger? Fear? . . . Grief? It was impossible to know. But since its outbursts often involved strange plays of brilliant light and sudden flows of sound, soft and eerie or fierce and beautiful, which would be difficult to explain to those best ignorant of Taubolt’s secrets, Jake had set wards around the Cup’s housing now that none but Crombie and the other Council members could pass.

  “Some say the Cup could leave us,” Swami said anxiously. “Is it true, Father?”

  “That it has a will of its own, and the power to come and go as it wishes is beyond dispute,” Crombie replied. “What it will choose, or why, is as much a mystery to me as to anyone else,” the priest concluded.

  “What would we do if it were gone?” Swami asked even more fearfully. “I have had such terrible dreams.”

  From this particular boy, the remark was deeply disturbing, but Crombie kept concern from his voice as he replied. “I cannot presume to reassure you about the unreliability of dreams as I would most others, Swami. But it is God who protects us here, and the Cup serves God, just as we do. Even were it called away, our true protector would not abandon us. That much comfort I can offer with confidence.”

  As they reached the tabernacle, Crombie began to murmur the words only his voice could instill with power. At once there was the sound of choral song as if from very far away, innumerable vocal harmonies, lovely beyond any skill of human composition. As the tabernacle doors unsealed themselves, a warm radiance the color of sunlight through magnolia petals streamed from the widening seams. Father Crombie and his young companions were on their knees before the doors were fully open. What Crombie marveled over most at that moment was not the spectacle before them, but the utter absence of pain in his legs as they had knelt and the certain knowledge that he would have no trouble rising afterward. What the boys might be receiving, he could not guess, but their rapt expressions told him they had all they’d come for.

  22

  ( Reunion )

  “Well, I’d say you’re a hit!” Joby enthused as he drove Laura home from her opening at Alice Mayfield’s gallery. “Think you can paint fast enough to meet demand?”

  “Praise is one thing,” she temporized. “Sales are another. We’ll see what we see.”

  “And you think I’m crummy at accepting compliments!” Joby teased. “You sold three paintings just tonight! Isn’t that a hint?”

  “All to Hamilton,” she said. “I’ll need a larger customer base than that.”

  “I don’t know,” Joby mused, hunching his shoulders. “She’s awfully rich. . . .”

  “ ‘Awfully’ is right,” Laura drawled. “I’ve never met anyone who made it so hard to smile when they’re throwing money at you.” She shook her head, staring out into the starry night. “She talked as if it were me she was buying.”

  “Well, I’m just very happy that you’re painting again,” Joby said. “I’m already saving up to expand your customer base by at least one, if that helps any.”

  “Aren’t you sweet,” Laura said, turning to smile at him in the moonlight. “But the day I let you pay for one of my paintings is the day—”

  “What!” Joby cut her off playfully. “My money’s not as good as Hamilton’s?”

  As they turned into the gravel drive, they were surprised to see another car already parked there.

  “Who’s that?” asked Joby.

  “I have no idea,” Laura said, sounding concerned.

  As they pulled up beside it, Joby saw a tall broad-shouldered man sitting in the darkness on the steps to Laura’s door, his face barely lit by the bounce of Joby’s headlights off the house.

  “Can I help you?” Joby asked, stepp
ing from his car.

  The man was silent for a moment, then said uncertainly, “I’m looking for Laura Bayer. Sorry, Laura Raulins, I guess. I was given directions to this house.” He hesitated, then said, “Are you her husband?”

  “No, he’s not,” Laura said, emerging from the other side of Joby’s car. “And it’s Laura Bayer again. Do I know you?”

  “Laura?” the man said. The dim light glinted off teeth, and even in the strange half light, Joby could not have mistaken that smile. “Ben?” he said, incredulous.

  “Oh my God!” Laura gasped. “Ben, is that you?”

  “Joby?” Ben blurted out. “What are you doing here?” He laughed suddenly, and Joby rushed to embrace his old friend, a step ahead of Laura.

  “I live here!” Joby said happily. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You live here? With Laura?” Ben said, sounding even more surprised.

  “Of course not,” Laura laughed, hugging Ben in turn. “We’re just coming back from an opening of my paintings in town. I wish you’d been there! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? And how did you find me anyway?”

  “Your parents told me where you were. I thought I’d surprise you.”

  Joby’s delight began to sour. What had Laura meant by “of course not”? And come to think of it . . .

  “So what on earth brings you to Taubolt, Ben?” Joby asked a bit too cheerfully.

  “I haven’t seen Laura in years.” He shrugged. “I thought I’d come visit. Her folks didn’t tell me you were here though.” He smiled that sunny smile Joby remembered so well. “Two for one! I feel like a lottery winner!”

  I’ll bet, Joby thought.

  “Well, let’s not stand out here in the dark,” Laura said. “Come inside!”

  “Whoa!” Ben said, as he followed them up the wobbly stairs. “You should fix these steps before they kill somebody.”

  “Sorry,” she said self-consciously, “I’ve gotten used to it, I guess, and I’m not much of a handyman.”

  “Well, maybe I can shore it up a little for you tomorrow,” Ben offered.

  Joby silently berated himself for having failed to make the same offer long ago, but it had never wobbled this badly until Ben had thumped his bulk down on it. Their old friend had grown into quite the giant since college. Two hundred twenty, if he was an ounce. . . . All of it muscle, Joby didn’t doubt.

  They’d hardly gotten inside, when Laura realized she’d left her coat in the car, and asked Joby to go down and get it while she fixed them all some snacks.

  Joby went, wondering why she hadn’t sent Ben instead, as if that made any sense. Nor was his state of mind improved when he came back inside a moment later, rather quietly, and heard voices hushed in urgent conversation from the kitchen. He shut the door behind him as softly as he could, but the voices stopped.

  “You want beer, Joby,” Laura called cheerfully, “or soda?”

  Ben came into the hallway holding a beer.

  “Beer,” said Joby.

  Ben smiled and shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re all together again.”

  “Neither can I,” Joby answered, forcing a smile in return.

  “You’re lookin’ good, Joby. This place must agree with you.”

  “You look like a movie star, as usual,” Joby said, unable to pretend it wasn’t true.

  Ben’s smile became a bit uncertain. “That’s some sky tonight,” he said back through the kitchen door to Laura. “You guys have as many stars out here as I ever saw in the mountains. Think I’ll go out and take another look. Want to join me, Joby?” he asked as he passed, heading for the door.

  “Sure.” Joby shrugged.

  They’d hardly gotten outside before Ben leaned up against the railing, and asked, “So, are you two together finally?”

  Joby had to admire Ben’s directness, and felt relieved that they wouldn’t have to beat around the bush. “We’re not married yet, if that’s what you mean.” He shrugged again. “But we’ve been dating for a year. You here for the reason I think you are?”

  Ben looked away uncomfortably, grinning sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

  Joby said nothing, caught between a series of conflicting emotions.

  “Listen, Joby,” Ben said, turning back to look him frankly in the eyes. “This isn’t going to get complicated. Yes, I came here looking for Laura, and yes I was hoping she might be glad to see me. I’ve been a lot of places since we all parted company, and never met anyone who held a candle to her. But I had no idea you were here. I only phoned her parents once and said I was an old friend trying to track Laura down. They asked a few questions about me, but never mentioned you.”

  Wondering why they hadn’t, Joby wondered even more uncomfortably whether Laura had ever told them she was seeing him, and if not, why not?

  “I had no idea what I’d find here, Joby,” Ben sighed. “I just figured I’d come see and play it by ear from there. Now I see you’re here, my ear says butt out, loud and clear. I hated what happened to us all the first time. No way I’m going there again. It’s really great to see you both, but if you’d like me to go, I’ll understand completely.”

  “Well, no,” Joby said, suddenly feeling catty and ashamed. “Of course I don’t want you to go. I . . . I’ve missed you, Ben. It’s great to see you too.”

  With a wry look, Ben said, “Then pray, accept my full surrender, your highness, and my renewed vow of fealty.”

  “Oh my God!” Joby chuckled. “You know, I teach at the high school here, and, you’ll never believe this, but the kids have started up their own Roundtable club. They even leave the same little tokens.”

  “You never could go anywhere without infecting people,” Ben said. The fondness on his face was unsettling. “I’ve thought about you a lot, Joby. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to find you looking so much better than you did last time we met.”

  “A lot’s changed since then,” Joby said, quickly suppressing unpleasant memories of their last encounter, years ago in Berkeley. “Everything, really. I’ve finally found my place in the world.” He couldn’t help smiling. “I’m very happy now.”

  “I can tell.” Ben grinned, setting his beer on the railing, and folding his arms. “I’d have tried to look you up before, I guess, but to be honest, it almost killed me to see you like that in Berkeley. I guess I just . . . hid from you after that. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve done my share of hiding too,” Joby said. “A lot more than you.” There was an awkward pause, then he asked, “So how long can you stay?”

  “No place I really have to be right now.” Ben shrugged. “I’ve saved up enough money to drift for a while.”

  “I rent a room at the Primrose Picket Inn in town,” Joby said. “The innkeeper is a very good friend. I’m pretty sure she’ll give you a pretty sweet deal there.”

  “That’d be great.” Ben smiled.

  “Guess we’d better go in then,” Joby said. “Laura will think we’re out here jousting to the death or something.”

  “No,” Ben smiled quietly, “she knows us both too well, and she knows I know who’s always owned her heart.”

  Joby smiled gratefully and nodded toward the door, wondering how he could have felt so threatened by such a fine old friend. The finest friend he’d ever had, or likely ever would. With Laura back, and now Ben as well, he could think of nothing more to wish for. His happiness was complete.

  As much as Nacho resented the flood of strangers pouring into Taubolt, he had to admit they’d brought some pretty cool toys with them; like computers, which he’d taken to as a match takes to fire, and most of all, skateboards. From the moment he’d watched a child half his age “ollie” off a curb on Shea Street, Nacho had been hooked. Now there was nothing he enjoyed more than being out on a brisk morning like this one, pushing the envelope on his beloved skateboard, his shraupmobile. Nacho’s board had become a virtual appendage, a second heart, a set of wings.

  It was not entirel
y without malice, however, that he pivoted into a long, loud backside tailslide along the curb as he approached Karl Foster’s chichi boutique. For Nacho, the man had come to represent all that was noxious about the invading hoard. Having purchased his little piece of the rock, Foster now treated people who’d been here for generations as if they were just so much trailer trash in his way. Sure enough, before Nacho had come within twenty feet of Karl’s storefront, the man was racing out onto his deck like an angry dog.

  Ignoring Karl’s wild gesticulations and shouts of outrage, Nacho did a 180 nollie heel flip on the sidewalk right in front of him, then popped his board up into one hand and sat down on the curb with his back to the infuriated merchant.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Karl demanded ridiculously from the deck behind him. “I asked you to leave! This is a place of business!”

  “You didn’t ask,” Nacho said without turning to look at him. “You ordered. And this is a public sidewalk, so I’ve got every right to sit here and catch my breath.” The man made no reply, but Nacho felt his angry silence like a furnace at his back. Turning to look at him, Nacho asked, “What’s your problem, Foster?”

  “My problem?” Karl barked incredulously. “You kids are out here every day, trampling my garden, damaging my stairs, leaning on my deck and fence with your dirty, baggy clothes and surly looks and foul language, like a gang of dope-smoking terrorists scaring off all my customers, and you ask what’s my problem? . . . Don’t you have parents? Didn’t anyone teach you anything about being human beings?”

  “Yeah,” Nacho said. “They taught me for twenty years before dopeltons like you came here waving fistfuls of money and telling us all we had no right to be seen around your town anymore. This was our home before it was your place of business, Foster.”

  “Here you are,” Foster drawled, “how many years out of high school? And what are you doing with your life?”